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by francery



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, germany and prussia are mentioned but only in passing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 15:58:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5592382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/francery/pseuds/francery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>France had gone through everything, from revolutions to war, but there was always one constant - he always found his way back home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home

**Author's Note:**

> Passed over from Fanfiction.net

France had always had a fascination with power, a strangely endearing trait to the otherwise hopeless romantic. After all, a man with power is a force to be reckoned with and, therefore, gets all the girls swooning - dropping like flies, encircling him like a moth to a flame. Unfortunately, he was alike to a lion - all the poise and grace yet with the flesh-shredding grip, dragging his prey down with him into his sinful paradise, twisting and snarling and grinding into the dirt. Luring women, believing him to be all of what he shows, and then sending them off with a laugh, sardonic grin and all, effectively crushing all hopes of being his suitor, not that they ever had a chance. He was only ever enamoured for one person. She had ended in the most tragic of ways, lived a saint, died a sinner, tainted by his promiscuous ways and blood-stained hands. An angel in a devil's world, burned by the pyre of which he had led her to, flames licking at the hem of her dress as she stared straight into the cross, his soul, and his heart as it broke. He had sobbed and cried and screamed curses at all who had led her to her demise - his king, the Burgundians, himself for being so damn stupid-

The agonising wail that followed sent a shiver down the spines of all who heard it.

XxXxXxX

Blood ran down his face as he stared at the blade looming above him, silent and menacing. His neck burned. The ring of fire that had ever so discreetly formed on the skin throbbed, blood slowly oozing out of the cut. The blade (the Guillotine they were now calling it) was still stained with red, causing him to wince as his mind came to process what exactly he was looking at. He was currently lay in quite an awkward position, one that would make it difficult to move without adding any more pain to his already aching body. The Revolution had took its toll on him, beating him into the ways of the Revolutionaries and sending him laughing mad. Anyone who visited the Palace at Versailles now would still probably hear the echoes of his hysterical laughter.

Gripping the floor beneath him, he pushed himself up and gritted his teeth as lightning shot through him. He continued until he was standing up, slightly hunched as his eyes darted around wildly. Nothing. No one was there to see the usually proud nation stumble around like an animal, half-dead and savage, growling under his breath at everything that moved. No one was there to see his own blood run down his body like rain, staining his fabulously pompous get-up and trailing behind him. No one was there to see France turn completely unrecognisable because his king and queen were dead and his people revolted in his name. No one. And that worried him, because as the monarchy turned into the Republic, he was alone.

Vive la France, indeed.

XxXxXxX

He was a trembling mass of skin and bones with bouts of shell-shock, and it came to no surprise that Germany and Prussia loved it - loved seeing him vulnerable and weak and afraid to try and escape because God knows what they'd do to him if they caught him - 

He was scared and alone and he was out of his depth because being locked in a literal imitation of a cage was not something he was keen on, and he definitely did not partake in any such activities when he was the powerhouse of Europe. All throughout his imprisonment, he had just one thought, "they're both sick, twisted, and deserve to be thrown to the dogs."

(What he did know, though, was that he wasn't really alone. They were coming for him - England, America, Canada. Storming the beaches and ripping the German forces to shreds)

His heart swelled with pride at the thought of Canada being amongst them. 

XxXxXxX

And when he had met them halfway, hair shorn, short and ragged, limping with an unsteady gait and tears streaming down his face, he felt joy. Canada ran towards him instantly, America grinned and tousled his hair, and England smiled uneasily, shock in his eyes no doubt coming from his appearance. With his family around him, he laughed - a laugh that was rough and grating from lack of use, but a laugh nonetheless. 

He was free. He was home.

**Author's Note:**

> i just really love france


End file.
